


Warmth in an Ice Storm

by MasqueofRedDeath



Category: Captain America
Genre: Angst and then no angst!, M/M, Post-Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:37:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasqueofRedDeath/pseuds/MasqueofRedDeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been three months since he came to in the twenty-first century as Bucky Barnes. Three months since he remembered his first life. The one in Brooklyn in the forties, with girls and dances and working construction and picking up bits of charcoal off of the carpet and rolling his eyes because goddammit Steve, people are going to think we're messy pigs, staining the floor up like that...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warmth in an Ice Storm

Steve is that spot of warmth in an ice storm, huddled outside a building waiting for a cab to come, feet soaked and chilled right down to the bone. The moment of relief, of feeling fingers and toes and knowing it'll be over soon before the cold comes back and takes over everything. Bucky knows what it's like to be cold. Colder than cold. All encompassing ice that films over his eyes as wind rushes around him and he reaches up, up to Steve, the look on his best friend's face turning his internal organs to stone because he knows he's not getting saved this time. 

Only he does. 

It's been three months since he came to in the twenty-first century as Bucky Barnes. Three months since he remembered his first life. The one in Brooklyn in the forties, with girls and dances and working construction and picking up bits of charcoal off of the carpet and rolling his eyes because goddammit Steve, people are going to think we're messy pigs, staining the floor up like that. A life where people came and went but Steve was constant. Big mouthed pipsqueak that he was, always acting like he was fit to take on God. Bucky remembers sneaking glances at Steve when he wasn't looking and laying up at night, wondering how the fuck this happened. How could he fall in love with Steve? He remembered a different kind of cold. Their apartment had terrible drafts and Steve had been so sick. One winter Bucky was terrified that he was going to up and die, the way he was wheezing, and no matter how many blankets he gave him Steve just couldn't get warm. So Bucky had crawled into bed with him and held him close and they didn't say a thing about it because Steve was delirious and Bucky couldn't stand to think too hard about it... 

Details from his old life swim and drift, never stacking up the way they really happened. But Bucky remembers every moment with Steve exactly how it took place. It's those memories that brought him back and those memories he tries to chase down with liquor.

\---

Tony Stark is having a party and Bucky isn't good at parties anymore. Crowds make him anxious and alcohol seems to go down quicker than water. It's barely two hours into the event and Steve is already hauling Bucky out of the ballroom, not bothering to use the noble nice guy crap on his best friend. He's pissed off and that doesn't matter to Bucky because he's still so warm, still so familiar. He's the only non-threatening thing Bucky has left and he clings to him, wanting more than anything to pass out and wake up seventy years ago, in a frozen apartment with Steve in cold sweats beside him. It's not going to happen, though. He knows that much. 

Steve takes Bucky out into the cool October evening, letting him stumble off into an alley not far from the hotel the party had been in. He sighs while Bucky throws up, because this is an old routine for them. Usually it would go down way later in the night, but Steve probably doesn't think much of it. He waits for Bucky to finish and then helps him straighten up, gives him the handkerchief out of the front pocket of his tuxedo so Bucky can wipe the vomit off of his face. 

The rest of the way home is darkness and the echoes of Steve's voice. 

\---

Bucky wakes up hours later in his underwear, on top of the covers and cold only on the front of his body. 

Hot breath pours down the back of Bucky's sweat-soaked neck. It's Steve crowding close, his knees tucked behind Bucky's, the entire length of their bodies pressed together. Steve's arm is wrapped around Bucky's waist and Bucky thinks he's still a bit drunk. It's just them, just like Bucky remembers. Sometimes Bucky wishes he couldn't remember. When he wasn't Bucky, when he was the Winter Soldier, he didn't have to feel like this. So close and so far because he loves Steve so much but Steve can never know. 

It's getting light outside and Bucky's just thinking that Steve will be getting up soon when he feels Steve rustle behind him. The arm suddenly draws away and Bucky knows he shouldn't, but he's just stupid enough not to think it through. He grabs Steve's arm and puts it back where it was, snuggling in closer. He can feel the softness of Steve's dress shirt against his back. He closes his eyes and pretends that this is normal, that he shouldn't feel guilty, that he's drunk enough to not be held accountable for his actions. 

"Buck..." Steve starts, stops.

The tip of Steve's nose runs softly up the side of his throat, hesitates and then pulls away. Bucky stops breathing. 

"I know you're awake," Steve sighs. "Did you... Did you mean it?"

Did he mean what? _What did he fucking say? _"I... what?"__

__The warmth around him is gone, rolling away. Bucky shivers. No. He doesn't want Steve to leave. This could be... What if... He rolls over and the room swoons. God, he's hungover. Steve is sitting up, looking rumpled and conflicted._ _

__"Last night... You were trying to, uh..." Steve's face goes red and he tilts his chin to the end of Bucky's bed, where his pants are hanging by one leg. "You took off your clothes and started kissing me, Buck."_ _

__Bucky swallows. His mouth tastes like vomit. God, he tried to kiss Steve with vomit-mouth. He remembers it vaguely. Remembers taking his shirt off at least. But the rest of it is lost in shadows and half-formed thoughts. "I'm sorry."_ _

__"Do you remember anything?" Steve asks, eyebrows furrowed. Bucky hates that. He hates how serious Steve looks, just wants him to be happy. "You said... you love me. Like properly love me."_ _

__Bucky repeats, "I'm sorry."_ _

__"Was that real?"_ _

__"Steve," he groans, holding his head. His voice is rough, falling with finality in the silence of the early morning. It's not a denial. He wants to grab his pants and get out but it's his room and he isn't sure he's fit to run anywhere. Bucky feels like he's been pushed out into the snow on a bad night. Fuck, he's cold. Exposed. Nothing to do but admit it. "You're all I have, Steve. All I've ever had. And when I... fell... all I could think was 'He'll never know'. I thought that was hell. I thought that was the worst thing that I could ever feel. But it wasn't. This is. Having you again and it's all back to the way it was." Steve isn't looking at him. Bucky closes his eyes, letting it all unravel. "I do love you, fucking worship you, Steve. Even before all this. The ice, the war, the serum..."_ _

__"But... when I was small?"_ _

__Bucky knows what he means. "God, yes. Of course. Always." He takes a deep breath. He's been watching the rise and fall of Steve's shoulders, even. Is none of this making a difference? Touching a nerve? Making him angry? Making him see what's been going on? How Bucky has felt, for so long. Desperate. He's been desperate for Steve and he pushes it down but sometimes it's like the individual pieces of his being are breaking apart with how wonderful and awful and conflicted Steve makes him feels._ _

__Bucky moves to get off the bed. He isn't sure where he's going to go when he gets steady on his feet. Half thoughts, fragments of plans. He'll lock himself in the bathroom. He'll sit in the tub like a four year old until Steve goes away._ _

__Steve doesn't move when he gets up, when he grabs his pants. Bucky doesn't look at his face, just pushes back the growing headache and stumbles off to the bathroom. He wants to shut the door but doesn't. Steve isn't going to come after him. He finds his toothbrush in the dark and scrubs the taste of puke out of his mouth. Toothpaste. Beautiful invention. He's definitely not drunk anymore. Just sore. Just hungover. Just tired. He can't believe he's admitted it to Steve, the one impossible thing, the only commandment Bucky has ever set for himself. Don't tell Steve or terrible things will happen. He'd expected disgust, anger. He'd hoped for understanding. A pat on the shoulder and unspoken tension for the rest of their friendship. He didn't expect silence. Nothing could be worse than silence._ _

__Steve's still in his bed, laying on his back with his eyes closed and Bucky doesn't know what to do, doesn't understand. He pulls the covers up on his side and moves to get back in, to ignore Steve and go back to sleep, leave it up to Steve to get the message that he wants to be alone. But when he gets down on the bed he realizes that Steve's eyes are wet with tears that run over his sharp cheekbones. He sniffles and opens his eyes, brimming with hot tears that make the blue brighter._ _

__"Shit Steve," Bucky murmurs._ _

__Steve shakes his head and envelopes Bucky, tucking his face into Bucky's neck. Bucky can't process for a moment and then he's embracing Steve back, shocked at how small Steve's made himself, curled right into him. He kisses Steve's hair, waiting for him to explain why the fuck he's crying. Bucky doesn't like tears. He hates crying and he knows Steve's the same. Steve hates crying but he isn't ashamed to do it. He isn't ashamed because he's a better man than Bucky._ _

__"It's okay, buddy," he says, rubbing circles on Steve's broad back._ _

__Steve lets out a long breath against Bucky's throat. "We wasted so much time," he finally says. Before Bucky can ask for clarification Steve adds, "I love you, too, Bucky."_ _

__Warmth floods over Bucky, igniting his skin, twisting hot in his gut. He pulls back, nudges Steve's face up, meeting his eyes for the barest second before plunging forward and kissing Steve. This time his mouth tastes like mint. This time he'll remember. The kiss is familiar, the softness of Steve's lips, the feeling of his hands tracing over the dimples on Bucky's back, sliding up to tangle in his shaggy hair. Bucky curves his metal hand around Steve's ribcage. With the nerve simulators Stark put in he can almost feel Steve. His other hand lifts up to cup Steve's face, thumb wiping away the wetness. He opens his mouth into the kiss, running his tongue over the inside of Steve's bottom lip._ _

__Steve shifts, repositioning them so that Bucky is straddling his hips. He sits back, grinning down at Steve. He can't stop his hands from running over Steve's pecks, rumpling the fabric of his dress shirt more. Steve used to iron their shirts, certain that they needed crisp shirts to make women notice them. They always noticed Bucky anyways. Insanity. How could they not look at Steve? How did they not know how beautiful he was? With his big mouth and serious expression, clumsy feet and charcoal stains on the rug at home. Their home. Bucky wanted to go back there, back in time. Take Steve's hand just once, kiss him not just in the middle of the December night, when the wind howled and Steve swam through consciousness, sick as an alley dog._ _

__He watches Steve's expression when he starts unbuttoning his shirt, the anticipation warring with nerves. Steve reaches up and pushes Bucky's hair out of his eyes and then rests his hands on Bucky's hips, trailing his fingers up over his ribcage every now and then. Bucky leans back down to kiss Steve's chest and accidentally brushes against the growing erection in Steve's pants. Steve's eyelids flutter and Bucky can see him swallow. The sun is up now and there's enough light in the room to see everything. Steve lifts his hips to get more friction, holding Bucky's hips firmly in place._ _

__Oh shit. Oh fuck._ _

__"Oh Steve," he breathes, slumping forward, chest to chest, his lips brushing against the shell of Steve's ear. "Pants off. Please."_ _

__Steve groans and stills his hips. "Good idea."_ _

__Bucky rolls off of the bed sloppily, his head still aching. It's background feeling, unimportant. He pushes his pants off, unsure of whether or not he should lose the underwear too. Steve's shirt is gone, along with everything else. Only his socks remain and he's flushed all over, face and chest and arms. Bucky's seen him nearly naked a million times, entirely naked maybe four or five. Once, when they were in the army together, he made the mistake of going into the showers the same time as Steve. Six foot tall Steve, 210 pounds of sudsy glistening muscles, stretching out his back in the spray of hot water... Jesus, Steve is gorgeous. More so now, hard and dark eyed and Bucky can't stand it. He wasn't lying. He really does worship Steve. And he wants to show Steve. Wants to kiss every inch of his flesh. Make him know how much he means to Bucky, how irreplaceable he is. Bucky's hands ball into fists and release, his metal fingers dragging noisily against his palm. He doesn't think he's ever been this turned on in his natural life, and he has had some hot nights in Moscow. Steve bites his bottom lip nervously when he notices Bucky staring._ _

__Bucky grins back, that slow one that's bigger on one side, and drops his briefs. Steve licks his lips, goes from half sitting to resting on his haunches, pulling Bucky right close, their cocks brushing against each other. Buck gasps. "I've thought of this so many times..." he admits, melting against Steve. Steve kisses his sternum, his stomach. His breath skates over Bucky's cock and he bends to place a kiss on the sharp jut of Bucky's hipbone, open mouthed and wet._ _

__Steve chuckles against Bucky's skin and says, "I'm pretty sure you were my first fantasy."_ _

__Bucky shivers, clinging tighter, reveling in the fact that his metal arm can't hurt Steve. "That is so hot." Steve works back up to Bucky's throat, leaving a long suckling kiss before pulling him back onto the bed. They retake up the position from before, Bucky straddling Steve. It was erotic with clothes - now it's downright obscene, their cocks pressed up against each other. Bucky starts up their rhythm again, stopping when the drag is too much. Shit. He pecks Steve on the lips, who's shuddering and shaking beneath him. "Wait here a second. I'll be right back." He gets up, flicking the light on in the bathroom to find that basket of 20th century toiletries (compliments of Tony Stark) that he never used. There's puke in the bathtub. Bucky thanks Christ he never sat in it. He finds the basket under the sink, hoping there will be some hand cream or Vaseline in it. He finds the KY first, curiosity overpowering his hard-on and stopping him long enough to read the back of the tube._ _

__"Holy shit!" he cries._ _

__"What is it?" Steve calls back._ _

__"They have special sex oil now?" He comes back in the room, hurrying over to the bed. He throws the lube to Steve, who catches it and immediately throws it back, making a panicked noise. Bucky just snorts at him. "You dork."_ _

__"Even I know what lubricant is," Steve says with an eye roll._ _

__Bucky shrugs._ _

__He stretches back out on Steve, opening the cap and placing a kiss on Steve's lips. The lube feels like nothing Bucky's ever touched before. Smooth and slick, heating up his skin where it touches. Steve moves so that he's on top of Bucky, groaning as Bucky slicks them both up. "Ready?" Steve breathes._ _

__"Yeah," Bucky says, not really understanding what Steve means._ _

__Steve puts a hand at the small of his back and pulls him so that they're completely flush, his free hand encircling their cocks. Bucky cries out, grabbing Steve by the shoulders. Steve's pace is quick, even and thorough. Bucky has trouble keeping his grip, his fingers slipping, nails on his flesh hand scratching Steve's back. The metal digs in just as hard but leaves no marks. He locks his ankles at the small of Steve's back, moaning freely at the sensation. So hot, so warm. Steve sliding against him, holding onto him, gasping sweet things into his ear as the bed creaks and the cold recedes and everything is Steve._ _

__Steve, Steve, Steve._ _

__Holding onto sick Steve in a small room in the winter, holding onto Steve in the heat of passion, morning sun turning his hair gold and lighting his eyes. October sun, turning the leaves gold in the streets below and clearing the air. Everything is dying and everything goes in cycles and Bucky can see the curvature of the earth and he's thinking in Russian and groaning in English, burying his face into the juncture of Steve's throat. Headache forgotten. Lungs clear. Anchored to the earth, in a familiar place. Nothing but Steve._ _

__Steve, Steve, Steve._ _

__He wants to smell Steve, lick the salt of his skin, feel the him everywhere, but Steve keeps pulling his face back, looking him in the eyes. Twisting his hand, alternating the pace. Dragging it out. Making Bucky writhe with it._ _

__"Please say it," Steve asks, voice deep in that Captain America way that keeps Bucky up at night, feeling guilty and lost but not anymore._ _

__"Loveyouloveyouloveyou," Bucky gasps, the words running together. "Oh God, _Steve _."___ _

____Steve buckles on top of him, his jaw straining and trembling, mouth open and eyes fluttering, splashing hot against Bucky's stomach and he can't hold it anymore. Steve's hand tightens. Bucky's toes curl. He closes his eyes against the light pouring in through his window and opens them again to look into Steve's eyes. He feels himself peak, gripping Steve so hard, going over the edge..._ _ _ _

____Steve is that all encompassing feeling of warmth, of coming in from the storm and finding yourself at home. Nothing to reach for. More than a fleeting moment. A constant, always waiting. Because home can be found wherever you are in time. Home will always be there. And when Bucky comes down from his high he knows this. He knows that all of the time he's spent fretting over Steve, over the unrequited love of his best friend, doesn't matter. Steve was never far and now Bucky's happy. So incredibly happy that he cuddle up to Steve, sticky and smelling like sex. He kisses Steve because he can and asks, "You good?"_ _ _ _

____Steve laughs, mumbles, "So good. Just perfect."_ _ _ _

____"No more wasting time," Bucky says, brushing Steve's sweaty hair out of his face._ _ _ _

____"Wouldn't dream of it."_ _ _ _

____Bucky is dropping off into sleep, head on Steve's chest, when Steve adds, "You need to cut your nails."_ _ _ _

____He smiles and lightly scrapes the nails on his flesh hand over Steve's chest, feeling him shiver._ _ _ _

____Right at home._ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> How do you porn?


End file.
